Adaptation
by Certh
Summary: Part I of the Finding Balance series. Coping with changes requires adapting to new situations.
1. Chapter 1

**Adaptation  
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Part I of the series titled _Finding Balance_

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><p><span>Author's note:<span> This fanfic is the first in a series I had begun posting here around 2006. The series has since undergone extensive revision and the structure has changed so that some stand-alone stories could merge and form longer narratives.

Disclaimer: I only own the storylines and those characters for whom there is no information on Marvel's website.

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><p><strong>Chapter 1<strong>

The fifteen-year-old girl remained seated on the blue carpet, cradling her ankle. Released from the claw clip that had held them firmly in place, strands of rich mahogany-chestnut hair brushed her cheek as she bent down to examine the bare foot, touching the hurt part gingerly. Suddenly, her face was pulled into a wince and a hand flew to her temple, the grimace of discomfort deepening.

"You're not supposed to fall, Morgan."

The male voice was strict, emphasising each word. Letting her hand rest idly on her leg, the teenager turned and found charcoal-blue eyes staring down at her. Her addresser was a man in his early fifties, an aquiline nose and slightly angular jaw sharpening his features.

"I know that," she acknowledged curtly, subtle traces of a lilting accent colouring her self-irritated tone.

"Good." The man pursed his lips and spun on his heel, heading across the twelve-thousand-square-foot facility to where a male gymnast was practising on the still rings.

Morgan turned away from the retreating form of Mark Gage, focusing her attention on her ankle. Fingers freezing in their gentle probing all of a sudden, she choked on a gasp and a hand shot up to her temple once again, features twisting in unexpected pain. Eyes shut, she drove little circles into the sensitive area, pressing hard. It was after many long seconds that the sharp jabs slowly became dull enough to be bearable.

Taking a deep breath before opening her eyes, the teenager pushed herself up from the floor, smoothing her sleeveless top and shorts before flexing one foot and pressing downwards carefully.

"I don't see you moving, Hunt."

At the head coach's tone, the girl walked to the white line marking the border of the floor, rearranging her hair. Checking her wrist supports, she schooled her thoughts and took a moment to visualise the skill she was to repeat. After a quick breath, she broke off at a run, launching into a cartwheel, legs snapping together in mid-tumble just when her hands touched the floor. Feet following suit, she pushed off, body arching through the air as the moved backward to land on her hands. Using her momentum, she propelled herself into an arch once more, establishing brief contact with the plywood surface before she was airborne again. Body straight, arms tucked into her ribcage and wrists crossing across her chest, she went into a back somersault, executing two and a half pivots around her midline axis. She landed on both feet with a solid thud, a tremor shooting through her before she stood straight again.

xxxx

The young woman in black and green warm-ups stood by the balance beams, watching as the slight Chinese-Canadian's feet left the apparatus. Jun-Mei Yang, clad in a yellow crop top and white shorts, lunged into a Back Handspring, jumping into a Layout Step-Out the moment her feet touched the beam, legs stretching into an aerial split and then meeting the hard surface. She pushed off one last time, knees pulled into her chest, body flipping through the air before her legs straightened to make contact with the beam. She wobbled on one foot as she attempted to keep her balance and fell to kneel on the mats below.

"Don't lift your head backwards when you jump," the slim female coach offered as the fourteen-year-old got up. The young gymnast mounted the apparatus again and the assistant coach and resident choreographer Alina Sosna tucked a strand of walnut-brown hair behind one ear, turning her attention to the others, her slightly slanted dark eyes critical.

The blonde sixteen-year-old Ashley Warren twirled and moved lightly on the balance beam behind her, weaving together the steps of a fluid dance. Her body traced an arch as she jumped backwards, hands touching the narrow apparatus and bracing against it as she swung gracefully down to a straddle. Pausing for a moment to assess the girl's elegant movements, the coach then paced down to the last two beams.

Latino-Canadian Chloe Vidal had leapt forward from one foot, the other kicking up as she made a half twist in the air. Landing on the previously elevated leg, the second one rose high. The slight vibration that travelled up her spine at the end of the Tour Jeté was barely perceptible, and the caramel-skinned fifteen-year-old went on to twirl on one foot, completing a full turn.

By her, Morgan launched into a Wolf Jump, hips bent and one leg straight while the other flexed at the knee, calf pressed against her thigh. Landing on the beam, she bounded backwards into a one-fourth turn before her hands met the beam in a Side Handstand. A few seconds later, her legs lowered to a straddle, her weight shifting on one arm as the other lifted off to hover parallel to the apparatus.

xxxx

The door to the girls changing room shut with a thud as a petite girl stepped out, adjusting the strap of a holdall bag on her shoulder.

"Montréal, here we come!" Inside the room, auburn-haired Claire Graham discarded the towel she was holding and pulled her hair into a ponytail, turning with a flair and a radiating beam from the sinks that lined one wall. On the bench to her right, Chloe rolled her eyes, a giggle escaping her.

Next to the Latino-Canadian, wrapping medical gauze tightly around a swollen ankle and foot, Ashley chuckled at the bubbly fifteen-year-old's enthusiasm. "The Invitational's three weeks away, Claire," she pointed out, pulling on a T-shirt and holding her pin-straight hair away from her neck before letting it fall to her back.

Beside her, Holly Matthews let out a wistful sigh as she stuffed her wristband into her gym bag, something that didn't go unnoticed by the bubbly redhead.

"What are you so down about? You just went to Worlds," Claire remarked quickly, her tone envious. At the age of seventeen, Holly was the oldest of the group, ranking in both the World Championships and the Commonwealth Games.

"Yeah, but..." the long-haired brunette began, "the Parc Jean-Drapeau's in Montréal. And the skating circuit..." Holly was a fan of inline skating, and the urban park located in the middle of the St Lawrence river had always been a main reason for her wanting to go to Québec's largest city. "Even a glimpse would do," she sighed wishfully.

"In that case, you shouldn't have cracked your ankle," quipped Claire.

Even though she knew her friend was teasing, Holly still gaped at her wordlessly. She had had the misfortune of landing rather badly while dismounting from the uneven bars, resulting in having her leg put in a cast and consequently not making the team that was to be sent to the invitational.

Claire proceeded to arch an eyebrow. "You're still in rehab; you can't even pull off your normal routines yet, and you're thinking about skating?" The hazel-eyed fifteen-year-old shook her head. "You're definitely doomed to break a leg, literally."

Holly pulled a face at her, sticking her tongue out, and the auburn-haired gymnast offered a saucy upturn of her lips.

"Don't worry, Holls. There'll be plenty more opportunities for you to go to Jean-Drapeau," Jun turned to her as she joined them from the showers. "Plus, compared to some, you're lucky," she added, going in search of a top. "Imagine having to worry about staying up late on a Sunday night to study for a science test due Monday." She whipped her head towards Ashley and Morgan, flashing them a teasing smile.

"Ugh, don't remind me." Ashley's reply to the black-haired girl was a grimace of mock desperation and a huff. The invitational was going to be a two-day event, stretching over the weekend, and for her and Morgan Monday was a school day.

"You should reconsider home-schooling," Claire suggested.

Across from them, Morgan glanced at the redhead in thought as she pulled on a loose-fitting blouse over her sports bra. Admittedly, it would have been much easier if she and Ashley were home-schooled like the rest. That would leave them with more time to practise. They wouldn't have to rush from school to the gym and their timetable would have been more balanced. Trying to juggle the two was hard work, but Morgan thought that created a kind of balance in her life: she could have all those experiences only school could offer and still be a competitive gymnast.

"Hey, we're still going to DJ's, right?" the curly-haired Chloe asked after a considerable moment of silence, reminding them that the clock was ticking. DJ's grill and salad bar was a small, cosy place not far from the gym, a nice hang-out after practice, and over the years the girls had become regulars.

Her teammates began to provide simultaneous confirmations and Morgan snapped out of her thoughts. "I promised I'd take Gioia for an early walk, so I'll pass."

"Alice can't take her?"

Morgan turned to Claire. "She's got court in the morning, some last-minute details to look over."

"Court on a Saturday?" The auburn-haired teenager paused in the process of zipping her holdall.

Morgan shrugged and picked up her gym bag. "It's not something she can help."

Claire winced in sympathy. "Tough luck." She let the door swing shut behind her as all six girls filed out of the changing room.

The training area was nearly empty and their footsteps gave a small echo as they made their way to the sliding doors leading outside. They stepped into the fresh air, pausing momentarily when the breeze nipped at their exposed faces.

Morgan let out a breath, adjusting her hold on her bag. "See you tomorrow, then," she offered and headed alone across the car park.


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2**

Rain clouds clogged the sky as the fifteen-year-old walked alone down the road, fingers tight around the straps of her slate-blue gym bag. The last narrow beams of late afternoon sun infrequently managed to penetrate the thick barrier that hindered them, sending small parts of the houses lining the street into muted luminosity before shadows claimed them again. The ominous heavens overhead promised rain and the temperature was suitably low.

The gymnast looked up at the gathering of clouds, a smile lifting the corners of her mouth as the bracing puffs of air that swept the area cooled her face.

Turning her attention to the road again after a few moments of staring towards the quickly fading light, little white spots suddenly danced and flickered in front of her eyes. She stopped in her tracks and staggered a step, her vision clouding completely for mere fractions of a second. Her body went rigid and a brief wave of panic snaked up her spine.

Morgan shook her head briskly, trying to regain her senses, and attempted some steps forward. The rushed movement sent a twinge of pain through her head. She stumbled and instinctively flung an arm out. Her palm scraped on something solid and flaky and she felt needle-like points prick her skin as bits of her support crumbled and peeled. Heaving a long breath, she nevertheless pressed against the tree bark and closed her eyes.

"You OK?"

The concerned voice so near her made her eyes drift open. A blond teenager was standing a few paces away, his eyebrows drawn slightly together and his head cocked to one side.

Morgan huffed. "Not really, Peter. Bad migraine." The response to the tall boy's greeting was slow, fatigue draining the words of all liveliness.

"Not a good day at practice?"

A spark lit the girl's eyes momentarily at the question. "Oh, no, practice was great." Her voice had become almost animated again. "I finally managed to stick a Full Twisting Double Layout on bars."

Peter's face assumed the expression of a person lost and one eyebrow rose high. "Plain English, please?"

Morgan gave a brief chuckle. "A difficult dismount." The quiet laugh died on her lips a mere moment later and she sucked in a hissing breath. Her eyes narrowed, face twisting into a grimace.

The boy's good humour faded and a look of worry settled on his features again. "The migraine?"

"Yes." Morgan's reply was level and crisp. Her eyes sealed tightly as the single word came out, pain contorting her features once more. The girl took a step backwards, one arm stretching behind her to grope blindly for the wall she knew was there. She lowered herself slowly to the flagstones.

Peter moved to help her sit as she released her hold on the holdall she was still gripping. When he straightened, he began digging into his courier bag. Producing a plastic water bottle and a small packet, he turned to Morgan. "I got aspirin."

Fingers pressing against her temples, the girl looked up at him with bleary eyes.

The blond teenager was eager to proffer the items, but as Morgan moved to accept them, he started and drew his arm back quickly as if burned. A frown creased his features. He stared at her, the lines on his forehead deepening.

"You..." The sentence he began trailed off into silence. He continued to gaze at the girl in thought, and then shook his head and walked away.

Unable to form a coherent thought, Morgan could only look at Peter's retreating back, blinking as the dizziness clouding her mind gradually lifted. A hand rose to absently brush a wayward strand of hair behind one ear. She wondered at the lingering sensation in her stomach, at the fading coolness that had pooled there only moments before and was now dissipating. Her unconscious mind began to register that the throbbing headache had vanished. She blinked again and, against her will, her heart began pounding. _No_, she told herself, it was her tiredness that was making her think absurd things. She hadn't done anything to cause Peter's leaving. As seconds ticked by, the irrational fear began ebbing away and calmness began to warm her. Then she froze again, panic painting her features.

She tried to force the ridiculous thoughts from her mind and made herself focus on the act of inhaling and exhaling, sitting still with her back against the wall for several long minutes. Her laboured breathing eased gradually. With slow, deliberate movements, she finally got to her feet, collected her gym bag and began walking away slowly.

xxxx

It was much darker when she reached South Rosedale. The first cluster of stars sprinkled the skies above, bringing with it a pleasantly chill draught of air and a soothingly calm night. Morgan rounded a bend into Park Road and caught glimpse of her destination.

Perched firmly on the flat expanse of a small rise, the place she called home was a light-brick detached house, two storeys tall, with a side-gabled sloping roof and compact screened front porch. The garden that stretched before it, slanting down to meet the edge of the low brick wall rising up from the pavement, was meticulously cared for – the flowerbeds were clear of weeds, filled with a bright variety of snapdragons, dahlias, hydrangeas and crocuses.

Climbing the steps that led up the gentle incline, the girl made her way to the back yard where the covered patio connected to the kitchen. Entering through the narrow French doors, she offered a quick, 'Hey, Alice,' to the woman who busied herself with tidying the cupboards and crossed the room to sprint up the stairs in the foyer.

Overlooking the garden, her bedroom with its pastel corn-yellow walls was one of the warmest rooms in the house, facing south. Dominating the vertical space near the door was the poster of a dark-blonde gymnast in a black-and-fuchsia leotard in an impeccable Ring Leap, legs separated in a one-hundred-and-eighty degree split, the back leg bent at the knee, arms extended to the sides, head tipped backwards. A colourful copy of the Periodic Table of Elements was featured on the opposite wall, while next to it another cardboard cutting presented Rutherford's Atomic Model.

Nearby, postcards portraying both known and less-famed sights of European capitals – including Rome, Paris, London, Vienna and Prague – were stuck to the wall, almost blending with clippings of paper that featured snippets from songs and poems. A simple night-table with an orange-and-red lava lamp stood to the left of the bed. Dozens of glow-in-the-dark stars were glued to the ceiling, forming various galaxies and constellations and promising a beautiful effect at night.

The laminate hardwood floor was bare except for a rectangular rug at the foot of the bed decorated with blocks of leaf and spiral patterns in earthly hues, and a lime green bean bag chair was pushed out of the way into a corner.

Discarding the holdall on the floor, Morgan sat on the bed, sinking into the mattress noiselessly. Peter's face swam before her eyes and her lip twitched nervously. Perhaps, just to entertain her curiosity...

She got up and strode across the tidy perfection of the room to reach the desk by the window. Rummaging in the drawers, she flicked through an assortment of books and the breath she hadn't known she had been holding was released at the sight of the purple paperback tome. The teenager tapped a finger on its cover before tossing it onto the floral-patterned quilt that covered the bed. Then she crossed to the other side of the room, opening the door of her wardrobe and fishing out a denim messenger bag. Back-tracing her steps, she halted and stared at the thick volume, shaking her head slightly, but with a choppy movement unzipped the bag and put the book inside.

The girl let her hair down and pulled them up again in a loose ponytail, not bothering to tuck back the couple of locks that fell out of place. A gentle brush and a sudden, familiar warmth against her leg made her look down. A small smile chased the unease from her face as the female blanket-back German Shepherd glanced up at her with dark chocolate-brown eyes.

"Hi, beautiful." Morgan's voice was gentle and she dropped down to sit on her heels, burying her fingers in the large animal's black-and-tan rich coat.

The dog scooted closer, nudging the teenager's hand once. Morgan obliged and began running her fingers through the soft fur, crooning to the canine. The dog leant against her and sat.

After a few minutes, the girl got to her feet. "Come on, Gioia."

The dog rose and followed after her as the teenager swept the messenger bag and her mobile phone from the bed, striding out the door. They trotted down the stairs, the German Shepherd close on the young gymnast's heels.

"Alice, we're off." Morgan paused for a second to locate her stepmother who sat at the living room coffee table, poring over some papers, before heading to the front entrance. Once outside, girl and dog swerved around the silver Mazda parked in front of the house and set off at a jog.

It was twenty minutes later that the two of them made towards the park nearby. Morgan slackened her grip on the German Shepherd's lead as she plopped down on a bench, leaning back and drawing in long breaths. Gioia lay down at her feet, panting. After several minutes, the teenager straightened in her seat and turned to her messenger bag, taking the purple volume out. She began to flip through the pages leisurely. Above, the sky had turned a murky blue, but the lamps on either side of the bench shone brightly, providing enough light for her to make out the letters.

"Isn't it a bit dark for reading outside, Morgan?"

The girl's eyes snapped up from the text, pulse beginning to race. It was a moment before she found her voice. "Not yet, Mr Dawson." She managed to offer the tall, suited man a brief upturn of lips, noting the almost amused look he wore. He gave her a smile that reached his dark eyes and then inclined his head in farewell, continuing on his way.

Morgan watched him disappear into the distance. As quiet fell again, she turned her attention back to the big tome, eyes scanning each paragraph slowly.


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3**

Early daylight filtered through the thin curtains. Morgan opened her eyes and turned to look at the bedside-table clock. She hummed and smiled to herself, burrowing beneath the covers: she still had ten minutes until the alarm went off. Her gaze fell on the purple book still lying on the small table, forgotten there the night before. A quiet half-chuckle escaped her lips: the previous evening seemed silly. It had been crazy to think she could find any kind of proof in a physics book. And now, in the fuzzy warmth that surrounded her, she couldn't even remember what she had been looking for...

The alarm finally roused her, and she dressed, going down to the kitchen for breakfast. The house was silent: everyone was still asleep. Gioia, lying by her empty bowl, sat up as the teenager entered.

"Good morning, love." Morgan saw to the German Shepherd's breakfast and then went in search of her own.

Faithful to their routine, they were outside fifteen minutes later, weaving their way through the neighbourhood streets at a brisk pace. It was much warmer when they returned to their starting point nearly forty minutes afterwards, Gioia panting slightly and Morgan feeling very much awake. Alice was in the kitchen having breakfast by the time the girl grabbed her holdall and headed out again.

The walk to the gym was quiet. Inside the training centre there was much less noise than on weekdays: those frequenting it on Saturday and Sunday mornings counted no more than a dozen. The shorter hours of training then created a more relaxed atmosphere and afternoon seemed to come more quickly.

After a brief stop to the changing room, Morgan was out on the training area, flexing her feet in front of a set of uneven bars. She leapt up to catch the low bar and swung far forward, hips bending as she brought her toes up, body driving backwards and straightening to rise to a handstand.

xxxx

The first thing the fifteen-year-old noticed when she settled at her desk on Monday was Peter at the back of the classroom, talking to his friends. For a moment she felt her stomach clench, remembering the strange evening three days previously and wondering if he would talk to her at all.

As though sensing he was being watched, the boy turned and met her eyes. He stared for a long second and then one corner of his mouth twitched upwards.

Morgan breathed in relief and looked down at her desk. She had been so overreacting, becoming anxious over nothing. Apparently she was the only one susceptible to the tricks her imagination had been playing on her since Friday.

She opened her notebook to an empty page at the back and reached for a pen. A spark of static crackled under her fingertips but no jolt seemed to come with it. The teenager dismissed it and began scribbling in the margins.

French, English, maths and art were uneventful, and by the time the last bell rang, Morgan had forgotten about her morning trepidation. Following the high-pitched ringing, the distinct sound of opening doors was immediately muffled by the patter of many feet and wave of cheery voices that flowed out from every classroom of the five-storied Neo-Gothic building.

A boisterous press of teenagers occupied the long corridor lined with rows of lockers, talking animatedly as they fumbled in their bags and stored personal belongings away.

Standing in front of her own locker, Morgan jerked her hand back from the open door, feeling yet another spark of static. She shook her head in exasperation and gave the door a not-too-gentle shove, beginning an earnest search in her bag.

A tap on the shoulder made her look away from the orange tube she had unearthed, landing her back to reality and the babble that went on around her.

"Hey." It was Ashley. The blonde waited for Morgan to acknowledge her presence before continuing. "How'd the last period go?"

"Nothing special," Morgan answered, adjusting her bag and rubbing lotion into her hands. She joined her friend in the throng of students that flocked towards the school's main doors. "But we did have entertainment between classes," she continued. "Will reading Poe's _The Black Cat_ out loud."

Ashley snorted a chuckle.

Picturing the scene again, Morgan had to admit it had been amusing: she and her classmate Rebecca Pearson walking to their next class while Will Eckhart trudged along, reading excerpts from a booklet and snaking his way through the packed corridor at the same time. Poe's little morbid piece had affected her the first time she read it three years ago, the girl recalled, making her dread the darkness that came every time she decided to close her eyes that night after finishing it, but since then, that first impression had toned down considerably.

"It seems that you had a better time than I did," Ashley commented as her stifled chortle died. "I had to endure almost half an hour of Victoria moping and complaining to Christy about how she should have been elected head cheerleader." The blonde rolled her eyes, her tone one of distaste.

Morgan simply nodded, a hint of amusement showing on her features as she tucked the lotion tube back into her bag. It wasn't hard to imagine Victoria Wilson react to the fact that she wasn't going to be the new head of the cheerleaders.

"You know I'm not a fan of that whole cheer business," Ashley went on, "but I think Marge really deserved the position."

"Yeah," Morgan agreed, bringing to mind the mental image of the curly-haired redhead who had just been elected the new leader of the school's cheer squad.

They stepped out into the courtyard, walking along one of the cemented pathways that ran through the patches of neatly trimmed grass and bare earth. Around them people weaved their way towards the street, while others hung back to meet up with friends. Behind them the building of the oldest high school in Toronto grew quieter.

"Still, I'd like to see _them_ try to pull off a full routine on bars," Ashley was quick to add with an almost savage satisfaction in her tone.

"Huh." Morgan only snorted in response, a gleam in her eyes.

"Says the National gold medalist on Uneven Bars," her teammate teased.

Morgan smirked.

The walk home passed quietly but the weather shifted by the time their ways parted. Grey clouds appeared above them and a drizzle began to fall, and the downpour that followed went on until Wednesday.

By Thursday, when Morgan took Gioia for a short walk after school, only the faint smell of wet earth still lingered in the atmosphere. Strolling towards the first empty bench in her path, Gioia by her side, Morgan's eyes half-closed as she breathed deeply. The early-afternoon sun shone through the trees planted in the park, painting the free strands of her ponytail auburn.

Something bumped against the teenager's shoe, making her pause in her tracks. She looked down to see a red toy car. Nearby, a dark five-year-old gave her a guilty upturn of his lips, remote control in hand. The ghost of a smile played on Morgan's lips at his look, but the boy had already flicked a switch, and the car was trudging back to its owner. He picked it up and ran off.

"Gillian, catch!"

Morgan didn't have time to step out of the way: the yellow shape that came hurling out of nowhere was mere inches from her. One arm bolted upwards to shield her face, her eyes shut tight and she tensed up, bracing herself.

The only pain she felt was Gioia's lead cutting into her palm when her hand jerked to establish a better grip on it, the German Shepherd retreating a couple of steps at her owner's sudden movement. When Morgan lowered her free arm and opened her eyes again, she saw the ball hover unsupported in the air for a full heartbeat before it dropped heavily to the ground.

The little girl with copper-golden hair near the teenager had her own arms still up, the laughter caught in her throat, her eyes wide. Some metres away, her sister watched in equal stupefaction. Silence settled about them, thick and unbroken, until the girls' mother jogged up and swept her twins away. She herded them off the park quickly, passing a lean red-haired woman who stood watching.

Morgan blinked and looked around her slowly. The boy and his mother had also vanished, leaving her alone. Still feeling a cool sensation in her stomach, she paced mechanically to the bench and sat down, heart thumping wildly in her chest. She had definitely not imagined the hovering ball. Had she?

In her stupor, she felt Gioia nudge her gently. She absently reached down to stroke the dog's thick coat.

"Are you all right? You look pale."

The slim woman with the dark red hair had taken the initiative to sit on the bench beside her.

Lying down at Morgan's feet, the German Shepherd perked her ears up and rose slightly from the ground, body tense.

The teenager wrenched her gaze from the spot she'd been staring at and turned to look at the woman, her vision focusing. Wordlessly, she moved her body slightly away, the distance between them increasing by a hair's width. Then, a swishing sound made her look elsewhere sharply.

A can of Coke suddenly froze in mid-air a few inches from her and the woman's face, its brown liquid trail fixed behind it. In the distance, a gang of young teenage boys scowled at them, the smirks wiped from their faces. They wheeled around and disappeared.

Morgan watched in stunned silence as the can lowered itself slowly to the ground, the woman's palm facing it and her gaze locked on it. The redhead glanced in the direction the boys had vanished to, shaking her head slightly. Beside her, the teenager ogled at her. The woman turned to face the fifteen-year-old.

"My name's Jean." When the girl didn't move or respond, she smiled. "It's all-right. I don't bite. What's your name?"

The teenager contemplated the stranger before opening her mouth. "Morgan."

"That's a lovely name for a girl."

Morgan shifted in her seat. "My mum was an English Literature professor – the Arthurian legend was her favourite."

xxxx

_"You know, there is a school where people like us can learn to control their powers."_

Those words had never really left her consciousness since her meeting with the American doctor the previous day. Morgan gave her head a brief shake and positioned herself at the end of the runway. Taking a breath, she broke off at a run.

Springing from the board, her hands touched the vaulting table for less than a full second before she was in the air. Her rigid pose was maintained for a moment, then her hips bent as she reached the peak of her flip. Body folded at the waist and arms kept in check near her torso, she completed a half-twist as she began tracing an imaginary line to the ground.

As soon as her feet hit the mats, her balance evaporated. The tremor of the impact shook her, making her fall backwards into a sitting position. She breathed a huff and closed her eyes. When she opened them again, her gaze went to her hands, a pensive expression on her face. After a moment the teenager shook her head once more, pushing herself off the polyethylene material and striding towards her starting point again.

It was a couple of hours later that she entered her bedroom. Letting her hair out of its neat arrangement, Morgan left her gym bag at foot of the bed and flopped onto the mattress, face down. A small tendril of pain travelled up her spine as she lay there, eyes closed. The teenage gymnast remained motionless, savouring the quiet moments of blissful relaxation that followed.

Opening her eyes at long last, she pushed herself off the bed and went to her desk. She found the purple tome in the last drawer and picked it up, lowering herself onto the mattress once more.

The fifteen-year-old turned a page, began scanning the index before pausing and closing the book with a thud. Swiftly, she reached for the little magnet she kept on her desk. She fixed her eyes on it, waiting.

A moment later, Morgan huffed at the absurdity of her notion, almost laughing at herself – she couldn't will anything to happen. Jean had spoken of mutants, but was she, really?

Morgan put the magnet away and began brushing her hair. She pulled a face as the brush worked through the tangles, feeling the build-up of static, almost like a small physical weight pinching her head.

Her gaze found the book nearby and despite her attempts to dismiss the American's words, her eyes slowly glazed and her mind drifted.

xxxx

The steel-grey Land Rover purred into an easy stop. The young man behind the wheel got out of the car and locked it, heading towards the house.

Crossing the garden, he took the steps leading up to the porch two at a time and gave the woman waiting there a quick peck on the cheek.

"Hey, Alice," he greeted his stepmother fondly, face smiling. The woman returned the smile warmly and kissed his cheek, her dark honey-brown hair and smooth features belying the forty-five years she had behind her.

"How are you, Neil, dear?" she asked, stilling the water-can clutched in her hand.

"Good. For once I've no projects for the weekend," he replied. "Dad and Morgan?''

"Your dad's still at work. Morgan's up in her room," answered Alice, receiving a nod from her stepson before he disappeared inside the house and up the stairs.

The door to his sister's bedroom was ajar. He peered around it.

Morgan was sitting on her bed, propped up comfortably against a pillow, a French textbook in her hands. She laid the thin volume down to scribble something in a notebook, then picked it up again, unaware of his presence.

Neil stepped into the room quietly and his sister suddenly raised her eyes. He heard her choke on a sharp breath, saw her blink and found himself sprawled on the floor.

The fifteen-year-old stared at him, heart racing. For a moment she thought she saw the air around him quiver, like a sudden wave of heat distorting the atmosphere, but her fright drove the impression from her mind.

Neil stared at her, hazel eyes dilated. "What was that?'' He finally found his voice, a note of shock tinting it.

Morgan gaped. Her mouth opened and closed several times but no words came out. This was real. "I don't know." Her voice was small and she fidgeted, her gaze going everywhere but to him.

After what seemed like an age, her brother blinked. "It's..." He trailed off.

The teenager stiffened, and it almost hurt to think. "I'm not sure," she finally managed to say. Then she tried to sit up straighter. "Telekinesis, maybe?" The words were tentative.

Neil gave his head a shake. "I felt a jolt, as in electricity. I'd say force field."

Morgan jerked her eyes up and was stunned to see her older brother smirk at her expression. She watched him carefully for a few more seconds. "It could be," she mused haltingly at long last.

When Neil simply sat in silence, peering at her with bright eyes, she slid off the bed and hurried to retrieve the purple tome she had left on the bedside table.


End file.
